Swing Me Gently
by zealousfreak27
Summary: Derek and Stiles have an epic road trip, full of threats, geeky references and fast food. / Prequel to 'Start My Fire.' It's not necessary to have read it first to understand what's going on.


**AN/ You'll notice while reading that a few things that Stiles mentioned in 'Start My Fire' are seemingly different here. That's because a) four years have passed between the stories and b) Derek isn't the sharing sorta guy.**

**There are several possible triggers in this fic. If you're worried about your mental health, you can read the end notes.**

* * *

This kid is a fuckin' wreck.

The other kids Derek's found weren't like this. Maybe a little morose. Some, like Isaac, were happy to be escaping a rotten home life. But none were this pathetic, not to mention spastic. Pretty much all demigods have ADHD - Cora is - _was_ - always bouncing off the walls. But goddamn is this kid jittery.

And to be honest, that's not scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel of Stiles's issues.

He cries as night when he thinks Derek can't hear him. He has debilitating panic attacks. He clutches the jacket his dad gave him when he left like it's the only thing keeping him from drowning. He spends about half the day staring at his phone but only ever picks up - never phones his dad. When Derek asks him why he doesn't just call home like he so clearly wants to, the answer he receives is "'cause I don' wanna bother him."

Yeah. If keeping the kid safe weren't hard enough, now Derek feels guilty because he doesn't have the first clue how to play therapist. In fact, he feels more inclined to smack the kid in the face than do any comforting. It's not that Derek isn't sympathetic but the brat is just so annoying.

"Hey," Stiles says, his fingers tapping frantically on the dashboard of Derek's Camaro. "Do you watch Doctor Who?"

"No."

"Dude - " and right there Derek wants to cut him off, because no one should be calling him dude, " - you totally should! You'd, like, identify with it and shit, 'cause it's about this guy who goes around and fights evil! Like you do, you know?" That's a... touchingly simplistic look at what Derek is doing with his life. Laura likes to call it 'pointless guilt-mongering' and 'killing things while wallowing in misery.' At least Stiles is letting him feel that he's doing some good in the world.

Stiles is now chewing on his shirtsleeve. It makes Derek want to remove any items that could possibly fit in his mouth from the area. It falls out of his mouth when he starts talking again. "I think you'd like Nine more than Ten. He's on a mission and stuff, and he's all broody. Ten's too... bubbly for your tastes." Jesus. Why's this kid talking about numbers?

When he starts talking about 'Classic Doctors' (the fuck?) Derek snaps. "Would you shut your mouth?"

And Stiles's mouth shuts with an audible clack. Just lovely. Now Derek gets to feel guilty for losing his temper and frightening a twelve year old.

He doesn't feel guilty for long though, because in about forty seconds, Stiles is back at it. Now he wants to know if sirens are real, and if so, their sexiness level.

Derek grits his teeth and tries to tune him out. As with most aspects of his life, he has no success.

* * *

"What house do you think I'll be in?" Stiles asks, wrapped up like a burrito in his sleeping bag. They're sleeping in their seats, looking up at the stars through the windshield. Derek discovered that the best way to get the kid to actually sleep was just to let him wear himself out until he falls asleep mid-sentence. That was after the night back in Utah Derek told him to 'keep quiet or have his mouth duct-taped shut' and woke up in the morning to realize Stiles hadn't slept a wink.

"They're called cabins," Derek says, trying for a patient tone.

"But saying 'Houses' makes me feel like I'm in Harry Potter. You know?"

Since Stiles doesn't continue from there, Derek assumes that was an actual question he was meant to answer. "No. I don't know."

Stiles sighs, like Derek is the unreasonable one here. Even though it'x fucking one o'clock and he's still talking. "You're killin' me here, man! You never sat around as a kid, waiting for Hagrid to break down your door and bellow 'Yur a wizard, Harry'?"

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and prays for relief.

"Whatever," he continues after a pause. "But seriously, what cabin will I be in?"

"I can't see the future."

"Come on," Stiles whines, drawling out the words. He's twelve, Derek reminds himself. You were probably an annoying little shit at twelve too. Suck it up. Resist the urge to cover his mouth with your hand. He'd just lick it anyway. "Just give me a guess!"

"I dunno. You seem like a Hermes kid, or... um, Discord."

"Huh." There's rustling noises coming from Stiles's seat - probably he's shifting to a different position. "What... What're they like?" He sounds so... forlorn. If he wasn't such a kid, this would be a lot easier for Derek. The guilt over how much he'd like to sock him in the face would decrease dramatically.

What to say that'll sound non-threatening, like Stiles will fit in well. "The Hermes kids are - well most people think they're fun." Derek hadn't really hung out with them. Or much of anyone, really, but the rest of his cabin had thought the Hermes kids weak and so he'd just followed their example. "They're usually pranksters or whatever. Not especially known for any talent, but all around well-liked."

"And Discord?" Stiles prompts.

"I - well, when I was in camp, there wasn't really a Discord cabin. Only the Olympians were given that honor. The other cabins are a new development." Derek thinks about it for a moment. "I've only ever met one demi-god I knew was a child of Discord. She was. Well. A bit crazy."

Stiles chuckles. "Thanks for that insight into what you think of me." But he doesn't sound hurt. Good. "Anyway," he says, voice wavering, "it'll be nice to be in a group."

I hope he's happy, wherever he ends up, Derek finds himself thinking. He doesn't question it. The kid does deserve some good luck.

* * *

Derek stares absently at the dust left behind by the now-disintegrated draken as he returns his spear to its travel sized mode. Luckily it was only a baby, otherwise this ordeal would have been much more of a pain in the ass. Also, Stiles might be dead. That could be taken as a positive, in some lights, but Derek's not pissed at him right now. And whenever he is pissed, he can remind himself that they're in Ohio now - only two states left to go.

"That was awesome!" Stiles yells, popping his head out of the side of the Camaro. Despite what Laura would say, Derek is not preening at the praise. He just likes being appreciated sometimes, that's all.

He climbs in the car, and continues not preening when Stiles gushes, "Dude, you are so cool! Were you born with a badass gene?"

"Yeah," Derek says, smiling a little. That's something Laura would claim, certainly, though she'd also say most of the gene had gone directly from Mom to her.

"What's your family like?" Stiles asks, chewing away at the black liquorish (what kid likes black liquorish? Stiles is so fucking weird) Derek had bought for him earlier.

For the first time this trip, Derek actually feels like talking. He ends up sharing all sorts of details with the kid, like how Laura's infuriating and Patrick's so smart and his mom is just the best...

He realizes after a while that he's been talking for almost fifteen minutes, rambling about childhood memories and how much of a sleezebag his uncle is. And he feels sad, but at the same time, lighter. More open. He isn't sure he trusts the feeling.

The strangest thing about the whole ordeal is the fact that Stiles hasn't said a word. Since he's stopped talking, Stiles has just been sitting quietly. It's unnatural, somehow. He's almost relieved when Stiles opens his mouth.

Until he hears what the kid has to say. "When was the last time you saw them?" He says it in a small, quiet tone, like he could tell Derek hasn't been home in quite a while.

Derek's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "None of your business."

"But..." Stiles looks hesitant. "You're, like, nineteen, right? So if they're all okay - ?"

"Just shut up!" Derek snarls.

Stiles shuts up for a total of eleven seconds. "Look, right now, I am driving away from the only family I have. If I could be back with my dad, if I knew he would be safe, I would be with him right now. And your family sounds awesome, and I dunno what's going on between you and them, but you shouldn't waste any time you can have with them. So there."

Fuck this kid if he thinks he knows anything about Derek's life. Sitting there, acting like he understands it all.

Derek can't go home. He - he killed Cora, he hadn't protected her, she's dead, he can't go home and face his family, he failed them, he doesn't deserve to -

"Derek!" He vaguely feels a hand tugging at his sleeve. "Derek, are you okay?" In a panic, Derek jerks the wheel, and hears Stiles give out a little yelp. He suddenly realizes that he's sped up, and he's about to go off the road. He slams on the breaks, and his body is forced forward into his seat belt. They almost crashed into a sign about someone's corn farm, he notices detachedly.

Stiles has curled up into a defensive ball in the left seat. Good, Derek thinks.

"Don't waste anymore time asking stupid questions," he says quietly, trying to find the words to make sure the kid minds his own business. "I'm not here to be your friend; I'm here to get you to Camp Half-Blood alive. Okay?"

He doesn't wait for a reply, just puts his shaking hands back to the controls and gets back on the road.

* * *

They stop at a convenience store in Pennsylvania, and Stiles slumps out of the car sullenly, muttering something about using the bathroom. Derek grunts in return.

When he finishes pumping the gas, Derek climbs in the front of the car and refuses to think about anything. He just breathes in and out.

Stiles still hasn't come back fifteen minutes later, but Derek's not worried. The brat's probably just venting at some hot dogs in the store or something. Derek leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. God he's tired.

He's abruptly roused by a cut-off scream. Stiles.

He's out of the Camaro almost before he knows it. He's only ever heard Stiles scream like that in a nightmare - nothing in a convenience store should be making him sound like that. Shit shit shit if Derek's failed to protect this kid -

And, when he finds Stiles behind the store, he knows that he has failed to protect him from a monster, but not the kind he'd been thinking of.

Stiles is on the ground, a bruise on his cheek, a hand covering his mouth, struggling against a larger body that's over his. The body belongs to a man who looks to be about forty, with greasy hair and pasty skin. Derek processes all this in about a second, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach, focusing on the fact that Stiles's eyes have turned to his hopefully.

Unsure of what to do, Derek kicks the man, hard in the side, and does it again until the man is far enough off Stiles that Derek can yank the boy up by his skinny arm.

"Run," he growls at him, watching the man stand up. "Go get in the car."

He doesn't have time to make sure Stiles gets to the car because the man has stood up, cursing and pulling out a knife.

Derek's sword is celestial bronze and won't work on this asshole, so he pulls out a knife of his own from his pocket, even though he probably won't need it.

The man charges him and Derek sidesteps easily, battle instincts kicking in. The rage coursing through his mind is making him less strategic than usual. It's also making him more brutal. He delivers a solid punch to the man's stomach, and is little surprised when he drops to the ground - Derek is used to fighting monsters or other demigods.

Derek climbs on top of him, in much the same way the man had himself been on top of Stiles, and punches him in the face, satisfied by the crunch his nose makes.

The man opens his mouth and forces out "Okay, okay, stop! I give!" through a mouthful of blood, but Derek is hearing none of it. He punches him again, this time aiming for his mouth, hoping to knock out a tooth or two.

He stands up, looking down at the man, who's completely lost his fight. Derek picks up the knife he had been charged at with, feeling like driving it into the vulnerable stomach beneath. Instead he sticks both knives in his pocket. He doesn't need the cops after him for murder.

With that sobering thought in mind, he looks around for a security camera, and shit, there is one, pointed enough in their direction that it must have caught some of their fight. Still, no one has come out of the convenience store, and if this man goes to the police, he'll have to admit that he had assaulted a minor.

Oh god, Stiles.

Derek feels a wave of nausea come over him. He's standing right in the middle of a dilemma. He can't call the police without them getting involved with Stiles, and for one, he doesn't want Stiles to have to deal with that, and two, that will bring more than a few questions about why a nineteen year old is escorting a twelve year old across state lines.

Before Derek can start panicking, he realizes there's an easy solution that doesn't involve leaving a child predator to go free.

He reaches down, pulling out one of the knives from his pocket, and smiles at the man. "Why don't you give me your wallet?"

He finds out the man's name is Tom Mele and he's from a small town west of Philadelphia. When he has that information, he uses the gas station's pay phone to call in an anonymous tip to the police that there's a predator on the loose.

None of this really makes him feel any better, because when he climbs back into his car, there's Stiles, curled up in his dad's jacket, trying to pretend like he's not crying.

Derek has no idea what to do. He feels guilty - he shouldn't have snapped at the kid, shouldn't have let him out of his sight. The guilt makes him feel heavy and makes his tongue feel leaden. And like always, he has no idea how to be comforting.

But when Stiles says "I'm sorry," breaking the silence, Derek knows that if he doesn't do anything, he'll feel horrible about it for years and the kid could be messed up for life.

"For what?"

"I was stupid," Stiles replies, sounding drained, like holding himself together is taking all his energy. "I was mad, so I was walking around the building to blow off steam. Stupid." The kid's lip quivers and Derek just can't take it anymore.

He reaches across the center consul, resisting the juvenile urge to pat Stiles on the head and instead grips his shoulder, turning him so the kid's facing him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Derek says it gruffly, not expecting the kid to have the reaction he does. Stiles's face screws up and the tears that have been threatening to spill over finally do. He surges forward awkwardly, knocking over a half empty coke cup from the lunch they bought yesterday, and buries the side of his face in the side of Derek's leather jacket. Derek has no idea how to respond, so he just puts and arm around the kid's back and squeezes his neck.

Derek starts searching for something to say before he realizes that he's already talking, repeating, "You're okay now" under his breath.

After a few moments, Stiles pulls away, sniveling and looking embarrassed. Derek feels completely emotionally drained, like he's done enough comforting to last him a life time, but he still tip Stiles's chin up and says, "None of that. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Stiles looks much better than he had a few minutes ago, and Derek feels proud of himself a little. "Call your dad," he tells him, and starts up the car.

* * *

Derek only stops one more time to sleep on the way to camp. After he calls his dad, Stiles sleeps or looks out the window for most of the rest of the trip, and Derek is a little surprised he misses his chatter.

When they get to camp, Stiles stares at everything unabashedly, eyes wide and mouth open. Still innocent.

Derek takes him to see Chiron, having to drag Stiles some of the way because he keeps getting distracted, in awe of his surroundings. On the way there, Stiles is claimed by Hermes, and Derek smirks because at least he has good instincts about somethings.

Stiles and Chiron hit it off okay, so Derek starts to slink away before he hears Stiles shout "Hey!" and feels the kid ram into his back.

Stiles is grinning wildly, looking cheeky, so Derek plays along and flicks him in the forehead.

"Ouch," Stiles says, exaggerating. "You're so mean to me."

Derek just rolls his eyes.

The grin fades from Stiles's face, and he says, "Thanks."

Derek just says thanks back, and Stiles nods, an understanding reached. Then he turns and runs back to Chiron, excited to see his cabin.

* * *

A few weeks later, Derek's practicing his swordsmanship in the training field when he hears a familiar voice drift to his ears. "That's Derek," Stiles says. "Do you know him?"

Derek hears a voice reply in the negative.

"He's the one who brought me to camp. He's a badass, man."

Derek glances over at where Stiles and his apparent friend, a young satyr, are standing, watching him practice. He nods at Stiles and Stiles nods back, rubbing at the back of his head.

Derek feels old, suddenly, at the realization that Stiles looks up to him. After he'd dropped Stiles off, he'd thought that he wasn't responsible for him anymore, but now he realizes that he still is.

But that doesn't weigh him down like he thought it could. Instead, he feels like this is right, like helping the kid is what he's supposed to do.

If Stiles looks up to him, there's a good chance that the other kids do as well. Derek thinks he'll go talk to Isaac later today.

* * *

A month later, Derek picks up his phone to call home for the first time in two years.

* * *

**AN/ Possible trigger warnings: attempted sexual assault/kidnapping of a twelve year old, panic attacks and canon typical violence**

**Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. **


End file.
